Ruthless Desires

"Liana, do you have any idea what you've just done?" he asked, rubbing his temples.

"I did my job," she replied, standing her ground. Liana Carter was at her desk earlier, her fingers flying over the keyboard as the newsroom hummed around her. The tension in the air was thick. This wasn't just another investigative piece, this was the kind of story that could take down giants.

For months, she had meticulously followed the money trail, connecting the dots between Blackstone International, a powerful conglomerate, and an elaborate web of financial fraud. They had siphoned billions through shell companies, falsified reports, and bribed regulators to look the other way. It was a story of power, greed, and corruption, the kind of piece that would make headlines across the nation.

Her editor at The Sentinel had always told her: "A real journalist doesn't just report the news; they shake the world with it." And that was exactly what Liana did. She re-read the article, ensuring every source was verified, every claim backed by undeniable proof. There was no room for mistakes. She triple-checked the files, confidential emails, offshore account statements, and whistleblower testimonies-all pointing to Randall Sterling, the CEO of Blackstone International, as the mastermind behind the fraud.

On her screen, the final draft of her article gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights: "Blackstone International Multi-Billion Dollar Fraud Scheme Exposed"

She hit SEND.

The newsroom's editor-in-chief, Greg Hanson, called her into his office within minutes. Greg let out a heavy sigh, closing his laptop. "Blackstone International isn't some small-time company. These people don't just play dirty, they bury people like you."

"I have proof, Greg. Documents, whistleblower statements, wire transfers, everything."

Greg leaned forward. "And you think that's enough? You just declared war on one of the most powerful corporations in the country." Liana folded her arms. "So? We're journalists. This is what we do." Greg's expression turned grim. "Not anymore, Carter." The next morning, Liana arrived at The Sentinel, expecting chaos, but not the kind she walked into.

The moment she stepped into the newsroom, all eyes turned toward her. Colleagues whispered in hushed voices, glancing at her before quickly looking away. Some were pitying, others wary. Her stomach twisted. Something was wrong.

Greg's secretary, Mia, approached her with a solemn expression. "Greg wants to see you."

Stepping into Greg's office, she found him standing by the window, gripping his phone so tightly his knuckles had turned white. He wasn't alone. A suited man, sleek and snake-like, sat across from him.. "I know, it's huge," she said, adrenaline still pumping through her veins.

"This is the biggest exposé of the decade! We need to-"

"Liana," he said, his voice unreadable you are hereby terminated effective immediately."

The words hit like a slap. A sharp laugh escaped her. "That's ridiculous. You can't fire me for doing my job."

"It's not my decision."

"What?" she stammered. "Greg, you can't be serious."

Greg avoided her eyes. "Our board received complaints. Ethical violations. Fabricated evidence." Liana felt like the ground had been pulled from under her.

"You know that's a lie."

The man in the suit, James Caldwell, smirked. "Miss Carter, you failed to disclose proper sourcing for your claims. Your work is compromised."

"My work is solid." "Your career isn't." The realization dawned: Blackstone International had gotten to them.

Desperation clawed at her. "Greg, don't do this. I can fight this."

Greg's jaw clenched. "There's no fight left, Liana. They'll sue. They'll destroy us."

James Caldwell placed a folder on the desk and slid it toward her. "Sign the NDA, and we won't pursue further legal action." Liana stared at the papers. Signing meant silence. It meant surrender. She pushed the folder back.

"Go to hell." Caldwell chuckled. "Suit yourself." Liana stormed out of The Sentinel building, her head pounding. But the nightmare wasn't over. By the time she got home, she was already blacklisted. First, The Sentinel erased all her articles from their archives. Then, news spread that she had been fired for fabricating evidence.

No newsroom would hire her now. Unpaid bills stacked up. Her savings dwindled. Liana sat in her tiny apartment, staring at the eviction notice on her coffee table. Rent was due in five days. Her savings were gone. Her fridge was nearly empty. No job. No future. The industry she loved had cast her out like garbage.

Her laptop sat on the desk, taunting her. She opened it, typing out desperate pitches to online publications, blogs, even foreign media outlets. Anything to keep her afloat. No responses. She was a pariah. The powerful men she had exposed had won. For the first time in years, Liana felt powerless. But she had never been the type to back down from a fight.

Born in a working-class neighborhood in Brooklyn, she had learned early that the world didn't hand out fairness, you had to take it. Her father, an investigative journalist, had taught her the power of the truth. He had exposed corruption, uncovered scandals, and even put politicians behind bars. But one day, he took on the wrong people.

When Liana was fifteen, her father disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Nobody. No answers. Just silence. It had shaped her. Hardened her. She had vowed to continue his legacy. She put herself through journalism school on scholarships and grit, working three jobs just to stay afloat. She didn't chase fluff stories or corporate PR nonsense. She went after the real stories, the ones people wanted buried. And now, the same system that had taken her father had come for her.

She sat in the dark, a bottle of cheap wine in one hand, when her phone buzzed..

An unknown number.

She almost ignored it, but desperation made her answer. "Liana Carter?" a smooth, professional voice asked.

"Who's asking?" Her journalist instincts kicked in "My employer wishes to offer you a job. A private biography.

Liana frowned. "I'm not a ghostwriter". The voice on the other end chuckled. "He's not looking for one.

He's looking for you."

Liana's fingers tightened around her phone. The voice on the other end was deep, steady, and just the slightest bit amused, as if he already knew she wouldn't hang up.

"I'm listening," she said cautiously.

"Good," the man replied. "Killian Vaughn wants you to write his biography. He's never given an interview, never allowed a journalist access to his personal life. "It's the only biography that will ever be written about Killian Vaughn."

Her breath caught. Killian Vaughn. The billionaire CEO of Vaughn Enterprises. Ruthless, enigmatic, and one of the most powerful men in the world. Liana sat up, fully awake now.

"I don't work for billionaires," she said coldly. "I think you'll want to hear the terms before you decide," the voice said. There was something in his tone, a quiet confidence that sent a shiver down her spine.

Against her better judgment, she whispered: "Tell me more.".

"You'll be meeting with him tomorrow at Le Maison Rouge at 8 PM," the man said. "Killian Vaughn doesn't make offers twice."